


kismet

by unspecified (modernscience)



Series: Meandering through (until I find you) [9]
Category: Fashion Model RPF, Karlie Kloss - Fandom, Kaylor - Fandom, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8839945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernscience/pseuds/unspecified
Summary: If forever's gonna last then we'd better find the same direction





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. In celebration of Taylor's birthday  
> 2\. This plot has been bugging me for days now but took a slight unexpected turn of events  
> 3\. Enjoy

 

You hate bars.

 

It doesn’t take that long in this dimly lit establishment to be reminded of that fact. The music is blaring too loud and your friends are too busy swaying their heads back and forth to the rhythm to notice your boredom, so you take another swig at your Old Fashioned and scanned the crowd.

 

She caught your eye, raised her glass at your direction, and gave you a wink.

 

That was it.

 

* * *

 

You didn’t notice the smell of rose-scented candles in the room until now, sitting quietly in the dark and finally having a moment to yourself after spending the majority of the night worshipping every part of her body until she writhed and moaned out your name like a salvation, over and over again until she pushed you away and begged for you to stop. It’s completely dark, but your eyes are used to it after spending minutes staring at a particular spot on the wall and you’re able to make out the basic layout of the place. Small, but comfortable.

 

Your phone buzzed with a text message from your friend, the cold harsh glow enough to stir her from her sleep. 4:09 am. Another buzz, this time a calendar reminder of the meeting you’re supposed to have in 3 hours.

 

“Shit.”

 

Carefully, you removed her draping arm from your thigh and made your way around the room. Bra? Check. T-Shirt? Check. Although, no, wait. This isn’t yours. But you’re in a rush and your apartment is about 20 blocks from here, so it’ll have to do. The jeans, thankfully, is yours. You grab your phone last, shoving it in the front pocket just in time to muffle yet another buzz.

 

You leave her a note with an upside down smiley face.

 

Who says chivalry is dead?

 

* * *

 

You saw her again in aisle 2 on the supermarket, brows furrowed and eyes focused over boxes and boxes of mac and cheese, trying to decide if the one she’s holding now is, in fact, the best choice.

 

“These ones are no match for a homemade one, you know.”

 

She shakes the red box, rattling the dried pasta before putting it back on the counter. “Yeah? Why don’t you show me?”

 

* * *

 

She’s soundly asleep, arms draped on your body again — this time around your waist — skin sticking against your bare stomach. The chilly dry air of a winter night penetrates your bones, sending instant shivers up your spine. She stirs, instinctively pulling you closer, and suddenly you’re too aware of her presence; everything becomes all too familiar. There’s a reason why you stick to one night stands. There’s a reason you’re always the first one to leave. This isn’t it.

 

It’s 3:08 am and you’re suffocating.

 

Your clothes are strewn across the room, only this time the light from the bathroom is enough to illuminate as you make your way and gather your things.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Her voice is heavy with sleep, catching you with one leg about halfway in the jeans and the other as an anchor. If you have any sense of balance whatsoever, you wouldn’t have stumbled awkwardly towards the foot of the bed. But alas.

 

“Taylor…”

 

“Um… I’m… I have to go.”

 

“Go where?”

 

“I just…” God knows you try to put them on as fast as you can, but it still felt like 5 whole minutes too long for anyone to put a piece of clothing on.

 

She doesn’t say anything, though you feel her eyes on you as you grab your phone and your bags from the bedside table. Just before you leave, you steel yourself to not look in her direction.

 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out before closing the door. Because you are. You’ve lost count how many times you’ve said those words; half the time you don’t even mean it.

 

Not this time.

 

* * *

 

On your birthday, your friends take you to a different bar across town. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re a year older, or the much better selection of music, but you sheepishly admit to them that you like this place. Their whoop and high fives brought a laugh out of you. Three songs (and 2 more rounds of Vodka Tonic) later, you’re lost in the scene.

 

The last thing you expect to see is the familiar figure of a tall blonde, sitting alone in the far corner of the bar, nursing a drink.

 

She turns, and your eyes met. You fully expect some negative reaction.

 

But she smiles, and raised her glass to you before taking a gulp.

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I have a meeting at 7.” There’s only the two of you in the room, but you’re whispering.

 

“It’s 4 in the morning.”

 

“I know, but I gotta look presentable.”

 

“You can just wear the stuff from my closet.”

 

“You’re not serious.”

 

“I’m dead serious.” Then: “Come back to bed.”

 

This time, you stay.


End file.
